The Worst Kind of Goodbye
The song of the week has a bittersweet meaning for me. It’s called Abbe’s Song, by The Vespers, one of my all time favorite groups. I never understood this song until the day my best friend got on a plane to live in China for a year. Here are some of the words:
I’ll miss you while you’re gone, for you’ll be gone so long.
But I can’t say, “Please don’t go.” Oh no.
And I’ll share you with this world, but it hurts.
My church friends here in Rhode Island know where I’m going with this. This weekend, we said goodbye to a beautiful family that has had such a profound impact on every one of our friends, more than they could possibly know. This very day, they are flying to their new home across the country.
To my readers who don’t know this family, I’m sorry. My only comfort for you is that you don’t know what you’re missing. This family is so amazing in so many ways (and would probably be really embarrassed to read this). This couple has walked alongside Judah and I in a way that no one else has, and has given us so much encouragement in all the times we’ve felt discouraged and lonely. Seeing their family grow through adoption has been inspiring, and it’s been a joy to watch their children grow and learn. Their children are so unbelievably special. I have loved watching their little girl transform from a quiet, serious baby to a spunky, loving social butterfly. And I can’t count the times when their son has asked meaningful, caring questions that show a genuine interest in my life. Such a wonderful family that has blessed us in so many ways. My only comfort in them leaving is knowing that they will bless so many others elsewhere.
Leaving is so hard. I know, I’ve done it. Staying behind is also hard. I’ve done that too. At their goodbye party over the weekend, I couldn’t help but feeling broken and alone. To be honest, as much as we’ve tried, Judah and I don’t have a lot of close friends or deep relationships here in Rhode Island, to the point where we’ve been tempted to leave. Now that this family is gone, I feel rather like something has been pulled out from underneath me. I’ve lost my training wheels. I’m flying solo. This is a hard and hurtful experience, but like all such experiences, we can choose whether it cripples us or grows us. Perhaps I can use the pain of this goodbye to fuel my efforts in building more meaningful relationships in my area.
I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who feels this way.
I’ll miss you while you’re gone, for you’ll be gone so long.
But I can’t say, “Please don’t go.” Oh no.
And I’ll share you with this world, but it hurts.
My church friends here in Rhode Island know where I’m going with this. This weekend, we said goodbye to a beautiful family that has had such a profound impact on every one of our friends, more than they could possibly know. This very day, they are flying to their new home across the country.
To my readers who don’t know this family, I’m sorry. My only comfort for you is that you don’t know what you’re missing. This family is so amazing in so many ways (and would probably be really embarrassed to read this). This couple has walked alongside Judah and I in a way that no one else has, and has given us so much encouragement in all the times we’ve felt discouraged and lonely. Seeing their family grow through adoption has been inspiring, and it’s been a joy to watch their children grow and learn. Their children are so unbelievably special. I have loved watching their little girl transform from a quiet, serious baby to a spunky, loving social butterfly. And I can’t count the times when their son has asked meaningful, caring questions that show a genuine interest in my life. Such a wonderful family that has blessed us in so many ways. My only comfort in them leaving is knowing that they will bless so many others elsewhere.
Leaving is so hard. I know, I’ve done it. Staying behind is also hard. I’ve done that too. At their goodbye party over the weekend, I couldn’t help but feeling broken and alone. To be honest, as much as we’ve tried, Judah and I don’t have a lot of close friends or deep relationships here in Rhode Island, to the point where we’ve been tempted to leave. Now that this family is gone, I feel rather like something has been pulled out from underneath me. I’ve lost my training wheels. I’m flying solo. This is a hard and hurtful experience, but like all such experiences, we can choose whether it cripples us or grows us. Perhaps I can use the pain of this goodbye to fuel my efforts in building more meaningful relationships in my area.
I’m willing to bet I’m not the only one who feels this way.
Goodbyes are possibly the hardest things to deal with. Praying for you and Judah!
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